Turning Tricks
by ronearc
Summary: Dean, Sam and Castiel set off in search of an Amulet that may have demon controlling powers. They all learn something new about themselves, especially Castiel and Dean - Slash.


Turning Tricks

The radio had faded to static ten minutes ago. The low hum it still emitted was competing with the steady growl of the big V-8 as it pushed the Impala through the night. The engine was winning; Dean hadn't even noticed the loss of the radio station.

Holding a mini-mag light in his teeth, Sam sat in the passenger seat, pouring over a collection of maps, most of them older than the car.

Castiel rode quietly in the back, staring out of the window at the broken view of the stars, obscured and revealed in pieces by the limbs and branches of overhead trees.

The Mississippi back country rolled by outside as the twisty, windy road took them farther and farther away from anything recognizable as civilization.

"Sam," Dean asked, some irritation showing in his voice, "Do you have any clue where this place is yet?"

"It's not that easy to find, Dean," Sammy snapped back. "This place hasn't been on a map in 60 years or more."

The static began to fade in and out, gradually the strained, bluesy tones of the Animals poured from the speakers, "_There is a HOUSE in New Orleaaaanns, they CAAALLLLLL the Risin' Sun. – It's been the RUIN of many a poor boy…and god, I know…I'm one._"

"What do we know about this place again Sam?" Dean asked.

"It was a big time hangout for demons, including the Crossroads Demon, going back close to 80 years ago or more." Sam answered. "It was a – well, you know a house of ill repute."

Castiel leaned forward and asked, "It was a house that was not well regarded by others?"

"It was a brothel Castiel," Dean answered, "a whorehouse."

"Yeah," Sammy agreed.

"Why are we going there?" Castiel asked.

"I can tell you why I wish we were going," Dean smirked.

Rolling his eyes at Dean, Sammy half-turned in his seat and answered, "The place was cleared out decades ago by a hunter named Ezekiel Skye. Legend has it, that he walked in, pulled out an amulet on a chain around his neck and every Demon who came within sight of it froze, unable to move. He just walked around exorcising them. There were so many, it took most of the night."

Continuing, Sam added, "They say that in the early hours of morning, just before dawn, one of the – well, the girls, you know, that worked there."

"Whores," Dean added.

"Yeah," Sam blushed, "well, the demon's had been controlling her somehow, compelling her to – well, work."

"To whore," Dean said.

"Thank you Dean," Sammy snapped, "I've got this. Right, as I was saying, she lost it and smashed a lamp over a demon, the place burned to the ground. We don't know what happened, but she escaped and Ezekiel Skye never made it out of the building. If we can find this amulet in the ruins of this place, we might just have a new weapon against demons."

"That amulet would be quite beneficial," Castiel stated, as usual not realizing that he had mastered the obvious.

"I have a drawing of it around here somewhere," Sam flipped through his pages, and finally said, "Ah ha." He held up an aged piece of yellowing paper with a pencil sketch in the center of a round amulet, in the middle was a drawing similar to a Devil's trap.

Glancing at it briefly before turning back to the road, Dean asked, "It couldn't be that simple, could it?"

"No," Sam answered, "I have read of a few people trying to duplicate it, but there was something special about this amulet other than the drawing."

"Woah, what's this?" Dean asked, easing back on the gas pedal to let the Impala coast.

In the distance, below them on a flat, wide stretch of grass at the road's edge, stood a cluster of small buildings all around a larger, 3-story building. Lights poured from every window and there were dozens of cars parked haphazardly around the structure.

"Dean," Sam asked, referencing a newer map, "how far have we gone since we turned off onto this road from the highway."

"Almost 40 miles," Dean answered, "Why, where are we?"

"If this map is right, and I think it is," Sam said, "that building ahead is our brothel."

"It's not burned down," Castiel said.

"Yeah," Dean answered, "we freakin' noticed that Cas, thanks."

"Would the amulet still be there?" Cas asked.

"If some new owner rebuilt over the ruins, it might be," Sam said, "It's not the kind of thing you throw away."

Dean grinned from ear to ear and said, "We made it this far boys, let's check it out."

A beaded curtain, straight out of 1972, separated the foyer from the main room ahead. Looking around, expecting a doorman or something to greet them, Dean shrugged and parted the beads, stepping into the room.

The smoke filled, dimly lit main hall looked like a cross between a speak-easy and a blues joint. An old black man wearing a green visor, a vest, white shirt and sleeve garters was banging away at an upright piano against one wall. Dean recognized it as a stride version of _Puttin' on the Ritz_.

A few scantily clad waitresses were carting trays around through the winding mix of tables, which were scattered about the room in no particular order, almost every one occupied.

To the left, a set of stairs went up and down. Up the stairs led to a red curtain. Glancing that way, Dean saw the curtain shift and glimpsed an ankle and a bit of leg on the other side. Down was nothing but dark.

Thinking about that bare leg, Dean said, "Alright, let's split up. Sammy, you go downstairs. Cas, you just hang out here, see if anything seems strange. I'll go upstairs."

Checking his watch Sam said, "It's 11:30 now. Let's meet back here at midnight."

"I don't have a watch," Castiel said.

"That's alright Cas," Dean answered, "we're meeting in here where you'll be."

"Ok," Castiel said, looking around with a blank expression.

Dean made his way up the stairs, glancing back at his brother who was fumbling for the mini-mag light again as he headed into the dark. Dean smirked and chuckled.

Pausing a moment before parting the curtain, Dean took a breath then reached a hand out for it. Before he could reach it though, long, mocha-colored fingers with bright red nails pushed through the curtain and pulled it to one side.

A woman with gorgeous skin, mocha to match the fingers, stared back at him from slightly almond-shaped, amber eyes set above fine, high cheekbones. She had a narrow, dainty nose that came to a point and was just barely upturned. It set above a pair of full, luscious lips in the same bright red as the fingernails.

Her face was framed by long, dark, luxurious curls. The rest of her body was still hidden, but Dean could see the top of the red frilly trim of the teddy or gown she was wearing. The open neckline disappeared from his view behind the curtain.

Dean leaned forward as if to try to get a glimpse of cleavage, but snapped out of it when she spoke.

"Why, hello there darling,'" her voice mixed the best parts of Savannah Southern Belle, Creole French and pure lust into a sound that instantly had Dean wanting more of everything, especially her.

Shifting his left leg, Dean stretched slightly, giving himself room to grow as he felt the first tingles of excitement in his crotch.

"Why, hello yourself Miss," Dean said, in his smoothest I'm-here-to-get-in-your-pants voice.

***

Sam's flashlight clicked on, illuminating the steps leading down into what he presumed would be the basement, but might only be a storm shelter.

Rounding the landing and cutting down another set of stairs, Sam could see a tiny bit of light coming from a hallway below. Clicking his flashlight off, he proceeded quietly.

As his foot came to rest on the cement floor of the basement hall, he saw that it stretched forward about another 15 feet and ended in three doors, one straight ahead and one each left and right.

Trying the left door first, Sam turned the knob very, very slowly. _Click, click_. Locked. Trying the right hand door, he found the same thing. Noticing that they were the old style lock you could easily slip with a credit card, he was about to pull one out when he decided to give the middle door a try.

The knob turned and silently the door opened into a medium-sized room. From floor the ceiling the room was stacked with books and papers. Looking around he could see old maps and drawings lining the walls.

Immediately something struck him, the scrolls, maps and drawings were covered with mystical symbols.

His heart racing, Sam stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Unsure where to start first, he went to the nearest stack and started trying to figure out just what kind of mother lode he had landed.

***

Castiel stepped forward into the main room. No one looked up at him. Seeing an empty spot at one table near the bar, he walked over and sat. His back upright, stiff, looking around with that blank expression, Castiel didn't exactly blend in.

Within a few minutes a waitress came over, tray propped on her hip, smacking a piece of gum, she asked, "What can I get yah honey?"

"I am fine, thank you," Castiel said, "I require nothing."

"You have to order something sweetie," she replied.

"May I have water then," Castiel said.

"You have to order something that costs money, Sugar, those are the rules," she said.

Trying to decide what to do next since he had no money, Castiel finally said, "I am sorry, I will have to find my friend."

Castiel walked over to the stairs and looked up and down them. Sam or Dean, he asked himself. There was really no reason to debate it. Ever since raising Dean from perdition they had been tied in ways he could not explain.

Before falling from grace, the draw was manageable and had a holy essence. Since the fall though, he was affected by his hormones and physical reactions as much as any person would be and the draw to Dean was confusing but undeniably alluring.

Turning right, Castiel started up the stairs.

***

Dean waited in the small parlor room, where she had led him. He sat on an old fashioned love seat that rested on two carved mahogany legs ending in claws. The lady in red had told him it would be just a moment before she could see to his needs, and she had disappeared inside the door in the corner.

While the door was opened, Dean had seen the corner of a bed in the distance.

Figuring he was alone anyway, Dean reached down and ran his left thumb along the seam of his jeans, high up on the inside of his thigh. He could feel himself hardening beneath his touch even as he pressed and squeezed slightly.

Flexing, he pushed himself against his thumb. He held in a low groan that rose to his lips.

One minute became two which became five and Dean was fidgeting now, impatient. He could feel a damp spot through his jeans, growing wider from his excitement. The bills to pay the lady in red, clutched tightly in his right hand, pressed against his palm, had grown soft and sweaty.

He was about to get up and go look for her, when the door leading to the hallway opened and she strolled into the room. Starting at her feet, he let his eyes follow her legs all the way up.

The robe was ankle length but open. She wore red silk sleeping pants, below a red laced teddy that rose up her slender waist and hugged her tight bosom. Obviously all-natural, she might only wear an a or b cup, but Dean loved the promise of what that teddy hid. She extended her right hand, palm out to accept his money.

Standing and crossing the room in two long steps, before she could speak; Dean pressed the money into her hand, pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips with his own. Her apparent surprise gave way to passion as her fingers closed around the cash, her lips parted and her tongue wrestled with his.

Running his hands down the middle of her slender back, he cupped a cheek in each palm, squeezed and pulled her tight to him, so she could feel his excitement trapped between them.

Not waiting any longer, he pulled her backwards, maintaining the kiss, and opened the door. Stepping through into the bedroom, he dragged her behind him, then turned and pushed her forward, sprawling face-first onto the bed.

She started to say something.

Dean interrupted before the words left her lips and said, "Just relax, I'm working here."

Her objections silenced, she moaned into the sheets and writhed on the bed, shaking her bottom at him seductively.

Wasting no time, Dean kicked off his shoes, tossed his shirt aside and pushed his jeans down. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, he pushed them down as well where they fell on the jeans, to pool at his feet.

Stepping out of both, Dean placed one knee on the bed and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, letting the fingers run over her bottom.

Arching, she pushed her bottom back to meet his fingers, and then moaned in frustration as they continued their path up her back.

Coming down onto the bed, on top of her, Dean supported his weight, but could feel his hard length resting against her silk pants, right in the groove between her cheeks.

Grinding against her slowly, he felt her push back against him. He lowered his lips and brought them against her neck, just below her ear.

She shuddered and Dean could feel goose bumps rise on her skin as his lips made her neck warm with his breath and his tongue.

Reaching between them, Dean raised himself slightly, grabbed the center of the waist of her red silk sleeping pants, being sure to hook his fingers beneath her panties, and pulled both down around her knees.

Supporting his weight on each palm, pressed flat to the bed to the left and right of her, Dean leaned forward and felt the hot, electric touch of skin on skin as he slid himself between her bare cheeks.

Shifting his knees to change the angle, Dean adjusted his hips and slid forward. He could feel a bit of resistance as he aligned himself with her entrance. That resistance turned to sweet friction as he felt her part around his width and open. Inch by inch he pushed forward slowly until he was buried inside of her.

Resting there a moment, neither of them moved. They just experienced the unbelievable intimacy of their coupling and closeness.

Dean began to move his hips, very slowly out and even more slowly in. He no longer cared when he was supposed to meet Sam. He no longer cared about Lucifer, Michael or the coming apocalypse. The only thing that existed was the feeling in his loins and in his soul as plunged the warm depths of this woman.

Leaning down again, he brought his lips once more to her neck and he kissed her. She moaned, pressed back against him. Baring his teeth, he pressed them gently to her neck, biting.

She whimpered, "Oh God…Oh Dean."

Something tickled the back of Dean's mind. Gradually that something grew until it actually broke through his lust and occurred to him. Had he told her his name?

His eyes fluttered open and he saw the thick, dark curls of hair splayed out on the bed sheets and pillows before him. He saw the slender, mocha colored neck and dainty shoulders. Her head was turned to the right; he could see the bright, red lips—parted, panting.

Rolling his neck left and right Dean continued to push himself inside of her. Then, as he looked right, he froze.

A floor length mirror he had not noticed before adorned the far wall of the room. Dean looked into the mirror now and saw his own eyes looking back at him. Below him in the mirror, lying on his stomach with Dean covering him, he saw Castiel, and he saw Castiel's cool, blue eyes looking back at him.

Realization instantly came to Dean that somehow, someway he was inside of Castiel. His immediate urge was to scramble to his feet and hide or do something or do anything. Before he could act on any of those things, he realized something.

His hips were still moving, pushing him in and out of who he now realized was Castiel. With a certainty that he rarely experienced in this age of confusion and turmoil in Dean's life, he knew something. This was right. This felt right.

Turning, he looked down and once again saw the lady in red, writhing beneath him. Without hesitation, Dean turned and looked back in the mirror. His eyes locked on Castiel's and together they surrendered into the abandon of lust and passion.

The minutes passed too quickly for his liking and soon their arousal rose to a point beyond denial or control. Thrusting harder now, once, twice and finally a third time, Dean and Castiel sighed and groaned together as both exploded in orgasm.

Still coupled, Dean was initially unwilling to remove himself. He continued to rain small kisses on Castiel's neck as their passion ebbed. Instead of turning into guilt, as Dean might expect, the passion gave way to a glowing sense of satisfaction and affection.

"Damn," Dean said, after a moment, "we have to meet Sammy downstairs or he'll be tearing the place apart soon. I'm not sure I'm ready to explain this yet. You go ahead and go downstairs; I'll be down to meet you in a moment."

"Ok," Castiel said.

Dean still heard the beautiful, accented voice of the lady in red.

After Castiel had left the room Dean dressed quickly. A few minutes later he made his way downstairs to the main room.

Castiel was sitting alone at a table, a waitress standing next to him. As Dean walked up he saw movement from the corner of his eye, turning he saw Sammy crossing the room to join them, an excited look on his face.

Dean gestured at the waitress and said, "Bring us three beers honey."

"Dean," Sam exclaimed, "you're not going to believe what I found!"

"Oh," Dean said, "I think we both found something amazing."

"There's this …this room down there," Sam said, "It's like a library Dean, an occult library. I could read for years before I covered everything in that room."

Throwing a $20 to the waitress, Dean handed a beer to Castiel and Sam, and said, "To pleasant surprises."

They clinked bottles and each of them drank.

Coughing, they all sputtered, spitting the foul tasting, bitter liquid from their mouths. Abruptly, the world around them changed.

Where the smoky, dimly lit room with the bluesy piano and bustling patronage had stood before, they were now surrounded by a half-burned out shell of a place. The charred wood around them had gaping holes, through gaps in the wall the night sky beyond was clearly visible.

Near the entrance a rickety set of worn stairs led up and down. They appeared to be barely standing.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded.

"More like _who_ the hell," a deep voice said from behind them, emphasizing the word.

Turning as one they saw a dark clad, tall, thin figure step from the shadows. His eyes, including where the whites should be, swirled with a mix of colors, mostly iridescent blue. He was definitely a demon.

"Asmodeus," Castiel said, incredulously.

"The Demon of Lust and Passion, at your service," the figure said, by means of introduction.

"Do you like my little part of the world here gentlemen?" Asmodeus asked.

"What is this place?" Dean demanded.

"Why, my own little house of wishes, of course." Asmodeus answered, continuing, "I haven't been open for business here for awhile, but when I heard you boys were going to be in the neighborhood, I just had to have a one-night only encore."

"You see," Asmodeus said, "once you step into my little part of the world, either upstairs or downstairs, whatever you most lust after will appear for you."

"Wait," Dean said, "so that's why I saw that lady in red? Because, when I went up the stairs, that's what I was most lusting after?"

"Essentially," Asmodeus said, "yes."

Unable to control himself, Dean started laughing, deep, rumbling laughter that echoed off of the rickety walls out into the night beyond.

"What the hell is so funny, Dean?" Sam asked.

"We..we, hah, sorry," catching his breath Dean stopped himself, gained his composure, then spoke, "we saw whatever we most lusted after in the world, and you saw a bunch of books."

Sam started to protest, but Dean interrupted him.

"That's rich Sammy," Dean said, "you crack me up. Could you be any more of a nerd?"

Pouting, Sam just looked down at his feet a moment.

Dean turned and said, "Asmodeus." He stopped then, noticing the room was empty.

As if on cue, the building creaked and groaned, started to shift with the breeze and they heard a crash in the distance.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Dean said.

Stepping outside, they saw the Impala alone, on a gravel lot, no other cars nearby and no sign that any cars had been here for years.

Making their way over to the car, Dean delayed a moment, grabbing Castiel by the elbow. Leaning close he whispered, "Tell me, if I saw a lady in red when I went up those stairs, what did you see that whole time, before we looked in the mirror?"

"Dean," Castiel sounded surprised, and then answered matter of factly, "I only saw you, Dean. The whole time, just you."

"Oh," Dean said, blushing, surprised at how pleased he felt knowing that.

Behind them the burned out wreck of a building collapsed into a heap. They all turned to watch its death throes as it settled to the ground in a pile of dust and debris.

Loading into the Impala, Dean turned the key and the big V-8 rumbled to life, shaking the car beneath them.

The tires spun in the gravel as the car swung around and hit the pavement, tearing off into the darkness.

"Do you think the amulet was even real?" Dean asked.

"Probably not," Sam answered. "I bet Ezekiel Skye saw what he wanted to see, what Asmodeus let him see. I bet if any amulet ever existed, it never really worked."

Static popped on the AM station for a moment before it cleared and the wailing tones of Steven Tyler broke the silence, "_Sing with me, Sing for my yearrrrr, Sing for my laughter and sing for my tearrr. Sing with me, if it's just for today, maybe tomorrowwwwww the good lord will take you away. Dream on, dream on, dream on…._"


End file.
